


A Witcher Anniversary

by Andyrus



Category: Priscilla - Fandom, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Drama, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21976138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andyrus/pseuds/Andyrus
Summary: Part 1 of a co-written short story about the anniversary of Geralt and Yennefer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	A Witcher Anniversary

"Ciri must you be so reticent? You know I loathe surprises." A restless Yennefer with thinning patience complained. Her eyes were covered by a blindfold, courtesy of her stubborn daughter who incessantly insisted that it was necessary. 

Ciri stood right behind Yennefer as she led her to heavens know where. She could smell spices, herbs, meats, hear the boisterous streets overflowing with bartering merchants, and feel the nightly cold breeze run through her raven cascades. These were the streets of Novigrad no doubt. 

"You'll like it, I promise. We're almost there." Ciri retorted. She heard a grumble or two but ignored it. “And don’t try reading my mind or anyone else’ to try and figure out where you are.” A remark which earned a smirk from Yennefer.  
The shift in temperatures had alerted Yennefer of their arrival indoors. She almost basked in the heat pouring out of the nearby fireplace. 

Ciri cautiously guided Yennefer through sets of tables, chairs and people alike. The last thing she needed was to make the sorceress upset for bumping into something or someone.   
At long last Ciri removed the blasted fabric and Yennefer no longer felt vulnerable to the unknown. Ever since the Battle of Sodden Hill Yennefer cherished her eyesight. The memories of her shock and trauma upon realising she had lost it still fresh and raw in her mind. She hadn’t the slightest clue how Phillipa managed to survive so long without vision. 

Yennefer squinted as her pupils dilated. It was rather dark; she could still not make out where she was. Ciri would have an earful about this later… She’d make sure of it. Her annoyance marginally subsided with the rise of her curiosity. Beside her was a presence, one she decided to inspect by completely intruding upon their private space and allowing her fingers to feel along their frame; broad shoulders, burly arms, a chest covered by a doublet which threatened to rip at any given second and… a granite-hewn face hidden beneath a beard; she knew exactly who it was. "Well, well. The witcher at last deems me worthy enough to grace me with his presence. Perhaps you could inform me what all of this nonsense is about?"

Geralt scented the all too familiar aroma of lilac and gooseberries even before she had entered the building. So, when a ‘stranger’ sat next to him and intrusively touched him he didn’t tense up nor did he complain. He rather enjoyed it. They had been separated for longer than he had intended, far longer than he wanted, and found that he had missed her catty sarcasm. He replied in kind, “Just assumed it was your doing. Considering you also came in blind, I’m starting to doubt that.” What was that impish girl up to?

"Ahem." At the nick of time, as if she had read their mind, their mischievous daughter cleared her throat from a distance. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, Yennefer did not utter another word until the little troublemaker explained herself. Murmurs belonging to a sizable audience surrounded them. Whilst Geralt didn’t need light to know that and could easily decipher the numbers, Yennefer only now comprehended they had company. A lot of it. 

A heartbeat later, the lights had lit up. One quick scan of the area would reveal many familiar faces and that Geralt and Yennefer were seated at the table nearest to a stage where Ciri proudly stood alone. "As some of you helped arrange this, I’m certain you’re aware that today’s a very special day for two people who are dearest to me." She paused and cringed as though she was reciting a script and the forthcoming lines were not something she wished to say. Geralt heard someone urge her to continue from behind the curtains, and he knew precisely who was responsible for the speech. She resumed, albeit reluctantly. “May I present you the most courageous and trustworthy companion the White Wolf ever had the pleasure of knowing, Dandelion.“ Glancing behind her shoulder. Dandelion walked forward in practiced cue and gave his theatrical dramatic bow. Ciri jumped off the stage, a bit too eagerly, joining the table with Zoltan, Triss, Lambert, Keira and Eskel.

"As you all may know, our dearest trobairitz Callonetta had a severe injury a few years ago. One that could have put an end to her singing career. But we did not fall hopeless. And now, ladies and gentlemen, may I proudly present to you for the first time in ages, 'the Wolven Storm'." Giving another bow, Dandelion slowly backed away from the stage, disappearing into the bright red curtains. Everyone cheered and clapped as the beloved blonde bard walked on the stage, seating herself and tuning her guitar.

"Hm.” Geralt watched Pricilla. He knew of her recovery but was unsure if her musical career made the same leap of health. It wasn’t a lack of care; it was simply his never-ending entanglement with other affairs, never finding the right moment to ask. A part of him glad that the poor girl finally managed to heal from the unfortunate attack. 

“This is what they were scheming..." Yennefer whispered to herself, unaware of the song's content, unlike Geralt who had heard it before. He was curious how she would react to it but only gave her a brief side glance.

“Mhm. Makes you wonder which one had this idea, Dandelion or Ciri?” Geralt added.

"Both." Yennefer concurred. “Definitely both.” 

Their would-be back and forth came to an end when the first lute string was played. Yennefer’s gaze returned to the stage and landed upon the blonde. By sheer interest alone she settled, relaxed, and crossed one leg over the other as the beautiful melody reverberated all around the inn. The lyrics swelled her heart in seconds, filling her with nostalgia; Their story, painful and angering but moving and happy. She scooped herself closer to him and loosely wrapped an arm around his waist, stealing a quick glance in the process. Which was what he had wanted.

Geralt nonchalantly moved his own left arm and landed it upon the midground of her waist and thigh. He gripped it with a decent amount of effort, not enough to harm but certainly enough to be felt, and pulled her in closer. The gap between them closed entirely. She was almost forced to rest her head upon his shoulder or suffer a fate of an entire night with an aching neck. She complied, even if that musky smell of his informed her that he hadn’t taken a bath in a while.

For the whole duration of the song, Yennefer's eyes were glued to the stage. It was such a lovely tune. At times she found that she was unknowingly humming along, deep in thought, pondering about herself, about Geralt, about them. Geralt seemed to share the same sentiment. 

With Yen resting upon his shoulder, it sparked years of events between them both good and bad. He wouldn’t change a single thing. 

“I wouldn’t either.” Yennefer quietly uttered. “Hopefully without the stench of drowners and hags next time.” 

“Yen.” He grunted in annoyance. 

“Yes I know, I know, you don’t like it when I read your mind.”

Geralt sighed through his nose. Always the same sorceress. And while doing so he had caught her aroma of lilac and gooseberries again. Closer and so much more intoxicating. His eyes swayed from the stage and around the room, to familiarise with who came. To a certain extent, at least. He needed to distract himself from her to quell his self-inflicted hunger. Luckily, the witcher’s gaze was quickly met with his ashen-haired daughter’s. She gave him a playful grin but inclined her head to the stage with a nod. If she could talk, she would probably have said ‘focus.’ Not daring to risk her wrath, and especially not her mother’s, he did just that. 

Yennefer seemed to be lost in her own little world. It wasn’t until she heard the distant pitter-patter of the rain landing on the now smudged glass-windows that she returned to the present. Some of them were not closed completely. The wind blew through the small opening of the window producing a subtle howling.

A shiver went down her spine. Geralt’s company proved useful, providing her more than enough warmth. She looked at him once more, he looked right back, the evocative lyrics filling her with memories; good ones, bad ones, simple ones, and even ones she thought she forgot. Her wistful affection to their past reflected from her  
♪ "-violet eyes glistening--" ♪

He was holding his breath. As was she. It felt as though the second either of them let it loose the electrical and majestic moment would end. Yennefer knew she would never tire of his visage. No amount of scars nor wrinkles in the world could soil his face; the face that said so little and yet so much at the same time. And Geralt couldn’t think of a more perfect woman.

All her wants were plastered and vivid on her face. She was not one to hide her desires, even if it was at an inappropriate time, and he wasn’t one to be ignorant of them. Bringing them to fruition, on the other hand, claimed to be a different story. While her lips parted ever so slightly into a look that screamed 'kiss me Geralt', the witcher had decided that it was invitation enough to lean in. But it was Yennefer who stopped the tension, broke the eye contact and she who drew the breath that ended the moment and with it the performance as well. 

Once again, claps filled the atmosphere. All except one who still refused to divert his gaze away from the sorceress, scowling. Both his mind and body were enthralled by Yennefer. Her heart swelled with pride for captivating his attention. A compliment for her inner Goddess, really. Yet it was still impolite.

She nudged him with her elbow, then gestured very obviously what she wanted him to do mid clap.

Priscilla smiled proudly and bowed, indicating for Dandelion to return to the stage. "A splendid performance. I expected no less." He announced, his chest pompously held high. Behind the iconic duo were scurrying footsteps, and Dandelion kept stealing glances from that direction. A bad idea. No one crept past a witcher’s detective insight. Geralt was going to turn around and inspect what was happening. They weren’t ready yet and in a hurried panic Dandelion improvised, rushing to grab a book titled “The Last Wish”. Dandellion couldn’t help but feel offended when Geralt’s face scrunched at the sight of it. Nevertheless, relief washed over him. He succeeded in capturing his attention.

"No matter where I go, everyone asks me about the passion that bind Geralt and the sorceress Yennefer of Vangerberg. And I cannot fault them. It is a story of great love and fate. As a man of both cautious and discreet, I refuse to betray their secrets - with one important exception. The history of their first encounter is so extraordinary, so romantic and moving, that it would be a veritable crime to hide its light beneath a bushel basket. Indeed, had I not witnessed these events in person, I would never believe there was room in our grim and dark world for such fantastic marvels-[...] "

Dandelion recited feverously and with passion that almost seemed as though he were in their stead. Yennefer knew of the book and skimmed it for her own amusement. Even without his overly detailed description of the day she remembered it coherently. Dandelion was lucky he wasn’t there when she did or else Geralt may have needed to find a new best friend. 

" [...] It was out good fortune that Yennefer of Vengerberg happened to be staying in a nearby village. Geralt went to ask that she heal his best friend, who happened also to be the brightest star in the North's poetic firmament. Yennefer, however, was more interested in the Djinn than in its victim, and, it should be said, played the witcher like a well-strung mandolin. Yet rather than grow angry at being used in such a calculating manner, he fell white head over muddy boots in love with her. [...] "  
Her eyes darted to Geralt but only briefly. She thought him to be one of the servants in the inn. He knew why she was smirking but did not deign to acknowledge it.  
"[...] The sorceress would surely have met a tragic end - and taken all of Rinde along with her - had Geralt not rushed to her rescue. […]”

The remark earned Dandelion half a glare from Yennefer. Geralt squeezed her tightly in response. Dandelion’s lips tightened slightly.

“[…] For once, he did not need to draw either of his blades: to send the djinn packing, he had but to pronounce the third and final wish. He could have asked for anything: wealth, fame, power... but instead he asked the djinn to bind his fate to that of the arrogant yet intriguing sorceress from Vengerberg." 

The wish baffled Yennefer to this day. She never found out just what went through his mind when he made it. 

"And it is thanks to that fateful day that I can joyfully say, on behalf of everyone here tonight who put hard effort and to those who pitched in, happy 30th anniversary to Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg.”  
Dandelion finished expertly, just in time for both Triss and Ciri to carry the enormous cake to the table. Yennefer looked at it with awe, knowing that it was homemade by the obvious imperfection. Although her relationship with Triss would never be fully fixed, she still appreciated the courtesy of what her and Ciri did with fondness. 

As for Geralt, he was simply surprised that Triss showed up. Even though they all tried their best to bury the hatchet, Triss’s pain was evidently unbearable in the end. Her being present perhaps meant that she found closure. He hoped it, at least. Lover or not he still cherished the woman as an irreplaceable friend close to his heart. 

Unprovoked, Geralt felt a stinging zap to his side similar to that of a crab’s pinch. He glared at the sorceress responsible and she glared right back. He was saved from her unexplainable wrath by old friends who came to congratulate the two. Some Yennefer did not know but simply heard of, others she had met. Either way, she wore the usual smile of gratitude and thanked each one, Ciri looking as proud as ever as she stood beside her parents.  
Triss cut the slices of cake with a bit too much precision. "A slice Yen?" She held a plate full of cake to Yennefer.

"Thank you but I don't like sweets." Yennefer politely refused. Triss nodded understandingly, returning to her task, making sure to at least leave a slice for herself before the cake drained.   
With cake slices being handed out, Dandelion stopped hogging the limelight, the true life of the party went into full swing. Booze, rowdiness and food was dished out in dividends. Whilst this wasn’t really Geralt’s scene, he was contempt knowing all of his friends and colleagues were enjoying themselves.

As Ciri passed a slice of the cake to Geralt, he subtly motioned for her to come closer to allow him to whisper. “Make sure you save a bit for later, Yen won’t eat any here.” Ciri smiled. She gave off a cheeky wink and hurried away to distribute more cake. Geralt glanced at Yen. No reaction. Good, she didn’t hear him. 

Suddenly, Zoltan jumped on top of Geralt’s table, nearly stomping on his slice. “Ay you tosser, it’s time for my revenge, I ‘eard that you battled 100 merchants and armourers for a Villentretenmerth card. I need it.”   
The perfect opportunity. Yennefer glanced about, making sure everyone was distracted enough. She quickly snuck a finger into the remnant frosting on the platter, tasting the deliciously sweet vanilla.

Although he entered rudely, Zoltan turned to Yennefer and slightly bowed. “If the lady wouldn’t mind that tis.” She quickly composed herself. Damned dwarf nearly ruined her scheme. Still she wore her formal mask of politeness, wafted her hand and gave a faint smile. “You’re goin’ down fucker!” 

And so, with curse words flying and cards and tables alike, it wasn’t long until Zoltan found himself at the raggy end of a sour defeat. After the sore loser stormed off, Geralt searched the room for Yennefer and found her in a lengthy and in-depth conversation with one of the sorceresses, no doubt about a boring novel they had read. 

Yennefer felt the familiar etching on her skin, that feeling you would get when someone gazed at you intently. She met his cat-like eyes but did not utter a word nor did she react at the crude content in his mind; he wasn’t just staring at her, he was painting himself a rather erotic picture of her and hoping she’d pick up on that. Yennefer excused herself from her company and stood up, sauntering towards the stairs leading to the restrooms, her head up, her shoulders back, leading with her far from small chest. Most of her weight went to her heels, allowing her hips to swivel from side to side. She kept that up until the very moment she disappeared from sight.

The way she strutted off did not go unnoticed. She was putting on a display, showing him of what’s to come. She knew where she struck men and knew how to yield that weapon well. Geralt eagerly stood up, not really taking notion of the man congratulating him for this anniversary.

“Going for a breath of air. Stuffy in here.” He quickly followed the very same path that Yen made blaringly obvious until he too, was out of sight.


End file.
